"wanna go to mars?" they say. but i, i'd rather
stay here, whistling past dark noon i've been to
hell red planet demons and back before.
clash-cram-ban-ban-woop!-woop! all the
overwhelming sounds and i, i drove the drum.
i shot a pistol through his whiskey and threw it
back. black track tan fan looking at the fan.
spinning while matt makes his selection.
comfortably comfortably sink into couches. matt silent.
gives his words through our music, resting cross-
legged on the floor, like a master.
swords and whips-i slay her with my gaze.
i shamefully look away.
all of us cold, hunched, sharing leather jackets,
damp seats, brackets, lighters, filters, whisper
we help him score the blonde.
but nothing lasts here.
the highs come low. the drunks too slow.
it's dark and freezing; ipod electronica never
held my soul.
but still, we have laughed here. and when
he picked that one song i knew he was my friend.
i lay on the carpet, L is near me. we red lips
making shapes our limbs and i miss him.
cell phones chime answer back flash and hurl
words like fire.
we sang and we ran and we pulled up the sun.
not forever long ago or until, we rest heads on
brotherly shoulders. ask, "wanna go to mars?"